


Child's Play

by bubblebucky



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Child Prompto Argentum, Parent Cor Leonis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but only vaguely, tbh this is random and lacks all explanation but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:51:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebucky/pseuds/bubblebucky
Summary: A young Prompto panics when he sees Nyx knock Cor down in the training room.





	Child's Play

Cor goes down. Prompto’s heart stops.

“No!” he screams, ripping his hand out of Miss Aduro’s.

He gets a flash of an image that’s not quite decipherable—large teeth, claws like knives, oozing black skin—but dismisses it because Cor’s on the ground, he’s hurt, and Cor needs him. Cor protects him. He has to protect Cor, too.

So even though his heart is beating out of his chest and tears have already completely blurred his vision and made his face hot and wet, and even though his throat is in flames with the failing effort he’s making into not breaking down into sobs, he runs to Cor, plants himself in front of his fallen form, and throws himself at the man who downed him.

The man is saying something, voice loud as Prompto hits him, bites him, kicks him, does all that he can to make him leave Cor alone. The others in the room, whom Prompto doesn’t know but did nothing but stand by as Cor got hurt, make loud and concerned noises at his intervention.

It's no surprise when moments later, someone is prying him off Cor’s attacker. He immediately starts to struggle in the arms holding him, but then he’s pulled tight against a familiar firm chest and Cor’s voice is in his ear, saying, “Hey, calm down. Prompto, stop.”

As if waiting for permission the entire time, he suddenly goes limp, the fight washing out of him. All he can do is sob and clutch onto Cor, heart still pounding like a frightened animal’s.

Cor’s still speaking, telling him in firm, soothing tones, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

It’s not. It’s not. He wants to tell him this, to explain to him that he was on the ground, and he had to protect him because he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t moving, and he thought he wasn’t okay. It’s not okay.

But all he can really do is sob, letting out whines and quiet wails until Cor lets out a sigh, holds him a bit tighter, and carries him out of the room. He keeps his eyes squeezed closed as they move into a space much quieter than the last, with nothing to be heard but the hushed sound of an air conditioner blowing and his own crying. A door shuts quietly. Prompto jolts against Cor when he lowers them both to the ground, positioning him in his lap as he leans against a wall.

After that, he just lets Prompto cry for a few minutes. With Cor holding him, clearly alive and present, the crying is less about the all-consuming fear of losing him and more about not being able to stop. Still, it eventually slows down, and when it gets to the point where he’s just sniffling and breathing hard, punctuated by little hiccups every now and again, Cor gently tugs him away from his chest so that he can look at his face.

“Hey,” he says, gruff and comforting. “You calmed down now?”

Prompto sniffs and nods.

“Alright. Do you think you can tell me what that was about?”

“You—"  _weren’t getting up._ Prompto takes in a shuddering breath, feels the words get caught up in his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut again, and a familiar ache starts up again in his throat. Then, Cor rubs his back with a broad, warm hand, and he manages, “He was hurting you.”

Cor’s hand stops it’s movements for a moment, like a stutter, and he looks up at him to see his face twist a little in a way it doesn’t do very much. He takes a very loud breath in and lets it out slowly; Prompto copies him, and he feels a little less like crying.

“Okay. Okay. Prom,” he pauses, looking down at him seriously, and in response he tries to listen as close as he can, “Nyx is a friend, okay? He wasn’t trying to hurt me. We were practice fighting.”

Prompto is quiet for a moment, absorbing that information; Cor lets him. But something small and argumentative and fearful flares up in him, still, so he says, “But you didn’t get up.”

“He got a good hit in, but he wouldn’t have hurt me anymore. I was going to get up, Nyx is just a bit tougher than I anticipated,” Cor lets out a quiet huff out of his nose, and he continues, “It wasn’t real, though. I promise. I wasn’t in any danger. _You_ weren’t in any danger.”

Prompto swallows, hesitates. Cor must see that he’s going to say something, because he waits patiently until he can gather up the courage to admit quietly, “I was scared.”

At that, Cor's holds on him tightens. Not painfully so, but in a way that makes her feel safe. Steady. He says, “I know you were. And you were very brave. I just want you to know that you didn’t have to be, okay?”

Prompto looks up at him and opens his mouth. Closes it.

Cor says again, “Do you understand, Prompto?”

“Yes,” he eventually says, because he does, kind of. It wasn’t real. The man who hurt Cor, Nyx, didn’t really hurt him. Or didn’t mean to. He wasn’t bad. He was just pretending to be bad. It’s all very confusing, and Prompto is quietly concerned about how to decide when it’s real or not, but he does, at least, understand that Cor is okay. If nothing else, that’s a comfort.

Cor is frowning a little, but it’s okay because he usually is. “I think it’s time to go home.”

Prompto nods and crawls off his lap. Cor gets up slowly, wincing a little and rubbing his back, and Prompto can’t really help the giggle that bubbles up at the sight of his scowl. Cor scowls a bit harder at him, but still offers his hand, so he takes hold of his pinkie and figures that he’s not really mad.

“I have to let them know I’m leaving,” Cor explains as he leads them out of his office, which, he sees now, is where he’d taken them. The few people they pass in the halls look at them curiously, but Cor ignores them so he does, too.

They go back into the room where they were fighting, but no one is fighting this time. Instead, the people who are there are just standing around, and they go silent when Cor and Prompto enter. Prompto immediately looks to Nyx, who meets his gaze and drops it just as fast. He's got a scratch on his face, and Prompto's chest clenches. He shouldn’t have attacked him. He isn’t bad.

“I’m heading out early,” Cor announces to the room at large, one hand in Prompto’s, the other reaching to take his backpack from Miss Aduro, who’s still in the room. He pauses to tell her coldly, “And Miss Aduro, we’ll be talking later about the appropriate places to bring my son.”

Cor turns, already gently tugging him along, but Prompto slips his hand away. He quickly makes his way back over to Nyx, who, along with his fellows, tenses when he stops in front of him. Prompto wants to say something, but his heart thrums uncomfortably at the idea, so instead he turns around and looks at Cor. Cor sighs audibly, then walks over and crouches by his side, an eyebrow raised.

Quietly, Prompto whispers in his ear what he wants. Cor huffs a little, but dutifully turns to Nyx and asks, “Ulric, what’s your favorite color?”

Nyx blinks, eyes darting to the people standing around him then back to Cor, then Prompto. Someone snickers. Nyx says, “Purple, sir.”

Prompto nods, then tugs Cor’s arm so that he has better access to his backpack. From there, he rummages around until he finds the proper marker, purple and thin, and then takes a hesitant step closer to Nyx. He holds out a hand.

“Oh, um, okay.” Nyx offers his hand back, and Prompto pulls it down a little more so he can reach it better. It’s a good hand. Calloused and rough, but warm, too. Like Cor’s.

He uncaps the marker with his mouth, and, as best he can, writes out his message in painstakingly drawn purple washable non-toxic ink. When he’s done, he releases Nyx's hand, caps the marker, and shoves it back in his backpack.

Nyx looks at his hand. “‘Sorry,’” he reads, looking at the word on his palm, letters wobbly and blocky. There's also a poorly drawn blob next to it sporting a beak and long legs. Nyx smiles, wide and toothy, and he kneels down until they're face-to-face. It makes Prompto a bit nervous, but now that Nyx isn’t attacking Cor, he seems not so bad. Nice, even. “Thanks, kiddo. I’m sorry for the scare.”

Prompto shifts a little and offers him a small smile. He picks at his wristband.

Nyx’s smile softens a bit. “You’re a tough kid, you know that? You got some muscles there. Better in a fight than Cor, that’s for sure.”

Prompto’s smile evolves into a bit of a grin as he glances mischievously at Cor, who dryly says, “Alright, Ulric, that’s enough. Prom, you ready to go?”

Prompto nods eagerly, already jumping to take Cor's offered hand. They leave the fighting room, and Prompto gives Nyx a final wave before disappearing around the corner with his father.

"What the fuck is that," Tredd asks after the family of two is safely out of earshot, pointing to the purplish blob next to Prompto's apology, "a daemon?"

"It's a chocobo," Nyx runs a thumb over the design and grins, "and it's better than anything you can draw."

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ idk yall but thx 4 readin
> 
> my tumblr is @bubblebucky (one of these days i'll put a link, i swear)


End file.
